A Hug and a Kiss
by Squaresque
Summary: Set in OotP, during Fred and George's little stunt with the fireworks,Draco Malfoy was busy hiding somewhere and who should stumble on him but Hermione. Trouble ensues. R & R please! May or may not be oneshot, depends.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey guys! My 2nd fic! So would be nice if you R & R, and brutal honesty about its extreme suckage is okay as well. Thanks so much :)**

Hermione Granger surveyed the pandemonium around her with mild interest.

A particularly large and dangerous-looking rocket whizzed over her head, trailing green sparks and making a beeline for Crabbe and Goyle, who were frantically trying to push each other into its path of imminent destruction.

Hermione heard a high-pitched shriek most unbecoming of Malfoy's oversized, lumbering cronies and snickered to herself at the smell of singed hair.

Shortly after this, she thought it rather wise to remove her prefect badge, lest a teacher spot her sniggering in a most un-prefect-like way.

A loud gasp made her look up, only to see a particularly shocking swear word scrawled in the air by a very saucy sparkler. Hermione was amused, albeit quite taken aback, when the people around her gleefully started repeating it.

Even Professor McGonagall, who on an ordinary occasion would have given around six year's worth of detention (and that was on a good day) to anyone who even dared to _think_ of such a profanity, seemed as if she was struggling to keep the disapproving look on her face. Her half-hearted protest petered out mid-sentence and she feigned deafness to any subsequent foul-mouthed cussing.

Indeed, the only two people who didn't seem to be enjoying themselves were Umbridge and Filch. Filch look rather badly off – his face was black with soot and his breathing much resembled that of a dying train engine as he wheezed in the wake of the smoke left by the fireworks.

Umbridge, meanwhile, didn't seem very obliged to help him, but this could have been because she was deciding how best to escape from the two Catherine wheels barreling at a terrific speed down the corridor from opposite ends.

In a feat that would have shamed a contortionist, Umbridge managed to squeeze her squat frame against the wall, leaving the ill-fated Catherine wheels to crash resoundingly, inches from the new Headmistress.

Hermione winced upon seeing the charred hole in the High Inquisitor's robes. It reminded her irresistibly of Blast-Ended Skrewts.

Then Umbridge turned and glared at her, the murderous intent in her eyes all-too-obvious, and Hermione decided it was time to leave the scene of the crime.

She ducked behind one of the portraits that concealed a shortcut, and who should she find cowering there but Draco Malfoy.

Hermione's eyes narrowed in distaste as she surveyed the boy in front of her. His normally sleek blond hair look woefully dishevelled, and his robes bore unmistakable signs of being on fire.

Hah. Serves him right.

"Well, well, Malfoy, what _are_ you doing in here?" She said loudly, in a good imitation of his lazy drawl. "Surely, as a member of the _Inquisitorial Squad_, you have a duty to be out there?"

Malfoy furiously reached inside his robes, but Hermione was quicker – he found himself squinting at her wand, which was aimed between his eyes at point-blank range.

"Don't tell me the Inquisitorial Squad has the power to hex people _and _dock points," she laughed derisively. She was still fuming over this morning's incident, and fully intended to get even with him.

Well, maybe more than even.

"Shut up, Granger, or you'll regret it," Malfoy growled.

"And why is that?" Malfoy had no idea Hermione could sound so soft and dangerous. "Your two sidekicks are probably up in the hospital wing now, applying Burn Salve to their scalps."

One hand instantly flew up to protect his beautiful, lustrous hair. What exactly had this crazy Granger _done_ to Crabbe and Goyle?!

He decided not to take chances, and began in a carefully controlled voice.

"What do you want, Mudbl– Granger?"

Maybe she hadn't heard that slight slip of the tongue.

Hermione tightened her hold on her wand.

All right, maybe she had.

"Well, Malfoy, let's see," she began sarcastically, "you docked about...twenty-five points from Gryffindor this morning, what do you think I want?"

"For me to dock another twenty-five, since fifty's a round number?"

He regretted it the moment he said it, Hermione's bushy hair now seemed to crackle with static electricity.

"_No, _Malfoy, funnily enough, _I don't._"

"All right, all right, I'll add it back!" He held up his hands resignedly, signalling defeat. "Twenty-five points to Gryffindor."

There was an expectant pause, and then Hermione demanded, "Is that all?"

Malfoy frowned in annoyance. Really, she was getting ridiculous. Hadn't he just given her back all the points he had docked earlier? Not that a few paltry points would put up much of a resistance to Slytherin winning the House Cup this year.

"What do you _want, _Granger, a hug and a kiss?!"

Hermione could not believe she actually _considered_ the idea for a single moment. She was absolutely appalled at herself. But the idea of being able to blackmail Malfoy certainly was tempting. Imagine the whole school, not to mention his precious pureblooded friends, finding out that he had given a _Mudblood _a _hug _and a _kiss. _He would surely get a walloping from Lucius Malfoy for tainting his hands with eternal filth.

Judging from Malfoy's aghast expression, he too was absolutely appalled that she had actually _considered_ the idea for a single moment. She gave him a sharp jab in the forehead with her wand to jerk him back to reality.

"What I want," she said very slowly and clearly, "Is an _apology_."

That was unexpected.

"A hug and a kiss from a ferret like you," she continued, glaring at him in revulsion, "_is absolutely disgusting_. I'd rather hug your..." she cast around wildly for something awful, "your Head of House!"

Which was quite a disturbing thought, because Professor Severus Snape did not look like the sort who enjoyed displays of affection, public or otherwise.

Malfoy felt offended. Surely his behavior hadn't warranted such an insult! He was good-looking, after all. Silver-blond hair, cold grey eyes and pale, pointed features, why, Pansy Parkinson was _obsessed_ with him.

At least, that was how he thought of himself.

Then he realized the implications of Granger's statement, and smirked to himself.

"That's not a very nice thing to say, Granger," he grinned nastily. "Why, maybe I _want_ to give you a hug and a kiss."

"Stop... stop talking nonsense, Malfoy," Hermione said rather shakily, gripping her wand ever more rigidly. This was not going according to plan. "Were the last of your brains destroyed by the fireworks?"

Oh yes, the table were most certainly turned now. She'd be sorry she ever tried to intimidate him.

"It's not polite to refuse, you know," he drawled smugly, confidence returning with each second that passed.

Hermione knew he was just trying to gain the upper hand. He wouldn't really do it.

"You wouldn't really do it."

"Oh, wouldn't I?"

Malfoy began to advance on Hermione, who inadvertently took several steps backwards.

"I still have my wand, Malfoy, so try anything and you'll wake up with green hair and huge, septic, pus-filled boils on your face spelling 'ferret'."

Up till this point, Malfoy had been hoping that Granger would be mortified enough to stop threatening him and instead scurry away as fast as possible, but it looked like she was braver than she appeared. He had caught a glimpse of Marietta's face and the grotesque pustules that disfigured it, and this fate did not appeal to him one bit.

It was time for drastic action.

Moving abruptly, he grabbed Granger's left arm hard and pinned it against the wall. The sudden pain and shock disoriented her, and her concentration slipped momentarily. Seizing the opportunity, Malfoy snatched her wand and turned it on its owner.

"Interesting turn of events, isn't this," Malfoy sneered. "For a start, I think we should take about fifty points off Gryffindor, seeing as you were planning to hex a member of the Inquisitorial Squad."

Hermione groaned inwardly. She shouldn't have pushed her luck just now. Who knows what trouble she had succeeded in plunging herself into this time.

"Go on then, Malfoy," she challenged, sounding far more self-assured than she felt. "You mentioned a hug and a kiss?" She paused, letting out a snort when no answer came. "I knew you couldn't do it. An arrogant, puffed-up little pureblooded git like you would never be able to live it down."

Hermione was secretly pleased at the string of rude names she had managed to churn out on the spot. One did learn things from being in Harry Potter's presence just after a Potions lesson, after all.

So, Malfoy could see no way out of this. He would just have to traumatize Granger so badly that she would never dare to confront him again. And he did not appreciate being called an arrogant, puffed up little pureblooded git.

He bent and studied Hermione Granger, who was determinedly looking down at the floor. She wasn't _ugly_, truth be told, especially since she had shrunk her teeth. He recalled an image of her from last year's Yule Ball, wearing a blue dress and her brown hair twisted elegantly into a shiny knot, and felt an odd twinge in his stomach.

No, it was more the fact that she was a Mudblood who didn't deserve an ounce of magic at all, and yet here she was, top of the level and friends with precious Potter, _the Boy who Lived_.

Under the soft fabric, he could feel Hermione's slender arm tensed and quivering, and he realized he was hurting her, squeezing far too hard. This knowledge should have brought a vindictive satisfaction, at the very least, but all he felt was uncomfortable.

But there was no option but to go for it. He prayed silently that this incident would never get out, or he'd be disowned, humiliated and friendless for the rest of his life. If he was lucky.

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and leaned forward.

Hermione was staring at Malfoy in disbelief, her mind a whirling blank. Was he serious?! She imagined Harry and Ron in hysterics, rolling and guffawing on the floor while she stood there, face flushed scarlet, her explanations falling on deaf ears...

The next thing Malfoy knew, he was clutching a bleeding nose and cursing expertly. Vision hazy, he could just make out Hermione's fingers curled defiantly into a fist. And behind her, there were two redheads climbing into the secret passage.

Hermione spun around, coming face-to-face with Fred and George Weasley, the identical twins with identical wide, evil grins.

"Ah, Hermione, gave good old Draco a whack on the noggin, did you?" noted Fred interestedly. "Excellent work, need any help finishing him off?"

Hermione wondered privately what "finishing him off" included. Aloud, she said, "No, no, in fact I'm just, uh, finished!"

Fred looked slightly put out. "Aw, c'mon Hermione, I'm sure the Vanishing Cabinet could take one more!"

George, however, was looking from Hermione to Draco suspiciously. "Not interrupting anything, are we?"

"NO!" Hermione yelled vehemently. The twins cocked their eyebrows, wide, evil grins beginning to form again.

That had been way too defensive.

"I mean, no, I'll just be going now," she hurried on awkwardly. Without waiting to hear their response, she retrieved her wand from a stunned Malfoy and ran off.

Malfoy was wise enough not to be left alone with Fred and George (he had heard the remark about the Cabinet), so he fled in the opposite direction, muttering angrily and docking about a hundred more points from Gryffindor.

***

All in all, Hermione decided, it had been a rather action-packed day. She slid into a seat next to Harry and Ron, who were looking rather dismally at their schoolbags. Really, their gloomy expressions were almost endearing. The enthusiasm of the crowd in the Gryffindor common room was extremely infectious, and she eventually suggested a night off, much to the incredulity of her two friends.

Undoubtedly, punching Malfoy had been the highlight of the day. It would be a long while before he forgot that.

Well, it would be a long while before she forgot his role in bringing down Dumbledore's Army, not to mention the countless other instances where he had stuck his nose in where it didn't belong.

Admittedly, there had been times today where she had been afraid that he would actually, well, give her a hug and a kiss.

But he wouldn't have done it.

Would he?


	2. Chapter 2

**Hi guys, WEEKENDS ROCK :D R & R please, thanks so much! I guess I haven't been writing well though, cos of school and a lack of natural talent :)**

Malfoy staggered back into the Slytherin common room, glaring furiously at anyone who dared to stare curiously at him. He made a violent gesture at a petrified first year, who took the cue and scrambled out of the armchair by the fire, making a frantic dash for the dormitories. Malfoy threw himself into the recently vacated seat, glowering so dangerously that the place quickly became noticeably emptier.

Not that he cared. Malfoy had resolved again never to be known for his kindness, benevolence, generosity or other desirable traits whatsoever.

(Yes, he actually believed he possessed these.)

Granger's little stunt had just proved the point Lucius had reiterated a thousand times:

"Why be nice, Draco, when you can intimidate and terrorize!"

And then he had demonstrated the ability to practice what he preached, continuing,

"I hope I've drilled this message into your numb skull once and for all, or next time I might really have to do it. Quite literally."

Now, he finally understood! No more mister nice guy.

Blaise Zabini slipped in, eyes widening upon spotting Malfoy and his bleeding nose.

"You didn't actually buy one of the Weasley's... uh, Blistery Bloodpods or whatever, did you?" he demanded.

Malfoy's eyes narrowed, but no one had ever accused Blaise of being quick-witted, so foolishly plough on he did.

"Goodness, Malfoy, I didn't know you were _that _desperate to get out of classes. I mean, you're not brilliant, but I'm pretty sure if you worked hard you'd be able to scrape a pass. Personally, I wouldn't go within a metre of anything those blood traitors have touched, but I suppose if you're willing to stoop_ that_ low–"

"Most _interesting_ monologue, isn't this," Malfoy cut in abruptly, causing the other boy's face to flush angrily. "So you're actually _suggesting_ that I've tainted myself with the nonsense those, ah, filthy ginger mops have been producing?" He allowed his lips to curl into a sneer at the noncommittal silence that ensued.

"Get lost, Zabini, you're an eyesore."

For a moment, Blaise looked murderous, but he turned away suddenly and stomped off, muttering something that sounded like "_Prince of Slytherin,_" most contemptuously under his breath. Malfoy grinned at his retreating back, wiping his nose on his sleeve.

***

Hermione was almost afraid to come down to breakfast the next day, nervous about seeing Malfoy. He hadn't looked too pleased last afternoon, though she supposed it was hard for anyone to look jovial with blood trickling gently down his face, having just received an unceremonious punch on the nose from someone he was supposed to be kissing.

She frowned at this last thought. He wasn't actually supposed to be kissing her, was he? He was supposed to be pretending that he was supposed to be kissing her.

She dawdled in the dormitory for as long as possible by experimentally trying to wear her hat on her feet and her socks... somewhere else.

But she was interrupted by a loud yell from the common room.

"HER – MI – ONE! WHAT ARE YOU DOING UP THERE, I'M STARVING, I COULD EAT CROOKSHANKS, FUR AND ALL!"

She gathered her things hurriedly and dashed down the steps, fearing greatly for the life of her cat, and never for once underestimating what Ron Weasley could do when he was hungry.

"At last," he grumbled, and Hermione was disturbed to see he was holding the fluffy feline in his arms. He caught her worried glance and snorted, putting Crookshanks down rather brusquely.

"You didn't really think I was serious..."

***

Dolores Umbridge looked most displeased.

"I am most displeased."

There was silence that almost sounded gleeful.

"Does anyone know why?"

The gleefulness seemed to increase and fill the whole room. Umbridge sighed.

"Well, how very disappointing."

Sure, like that wide, simpering smile distorting her flabby features spelled "disappointment."

"Yesterday, I'm sorry to say that you children were not, ah, _proactive_ enough to help deal with the little spot of trouble we were in! I know you are all _very_ talented students, but for actually supporting such_ felons_, I was considering punishment as a–"

"Yeah, it's a pity we're not_ talented_ enough to be ambidextrous, then you could put us in detention holding two quills and have our lines cut into the back of _both_ hands, all the better to make your point, isn't it," Harry interjected loudly.

The class was stunned; Hermione's hands were clasped over her mouth. Ron's expression twitched for an instant, but then he immediately assumed a look of mourning.

Umbridge's sugary voice was enough to make a Venomous Tentacula wilt.

"Fifty points from Gryffindor, Mr Potter, and thank you for your suggestion."

Harry opened his mouth again but Hermione kicked him viciously and he turned to glare at her instead.

***

"You're lucky you didn't get detention this time, Harry, you shouldn't push your luck!" Hermione moaned as they filed out of class.

"Aw, lighten up Hermione, she called my brothers felons!" defended Ron. "You know, I've always wondered if she was some poor soul's toad Transfiguration experiment gone wrong and run horribly amuck."

Even Hermione had to laugh, and Harry's grim expression disappeared. But the celebration was cut short as they rounded a corner to the dungeons and came face-to-face with Malfoy and his cronies. Hermione winced and tried to shrink behind Ron's gangly figure, but much of her bushy hair could still be seen.

"Well, well, look who it is," drawled Malfoy, "Potty, Weasel and the Mudblood. Not exactly everyone's idea of a _Golden Trio_, is it?"

"You little piece of–" yelled Ron, but thankfully so many obscenities came to mind at once that they nearly suffocated him and he fell silent.

"_Such_ a temper, Weasel," smirked Malfoy, fingering his Inquisitorial Squad badge. "Let's see, I'll have to dock ten points for swearing, twenty for being related to those troublemakers, and another ten because you're in my line of sight."

This time it was Harry who started forward with murderous intent, but Hermione groaned and seized a fistful of his robes. It was rather like trying to restrain a rampaging rhinoceros, and she had never been so relieved when Snape opened the door and beckoned them inside.

The crowd entered and immediately split into two as the Gryffindors and Slytherins automatically filtered to opposite sides of the classroom. This left the middle row empty for the four unfortunate students who had to _mingle_.

In this case, Hermione, Harry, Ron, and Draco Malfoy.

"Sit between us and Malfoy, Hermione, before Ron and I try to drown him in his cauldron," hissed Harry as they shuffled to their seats.

On any other day, Hermione would have agreed straightaway, but it was not any other day that she was trying to keep a good few miles from Malfoy.

Nevertheless, as Hermione didn't think associating with murderers would look good on her track record, she nodded mutely.

As Snape gave out instructions in his usual soft voice (which explained – partially – why so many people failed to follow them), Hermione chanced a sidelong glance at Malfoy, who was twirling his wand indifferently.

Maybe, she thought hopefully, he's decided to let it blow over.

Then again, that wouldn't be Malfoy-like at all.

The lesson was easy enough for Hermione (which lesson wasn't?) but Draco seemed to have forgotten how many counterclockwise stirs to add in. Hermione put this down to the indifferent-wand-twirling he had participated in just now, and was strongly tempted not to help him.

But the prospect of that shimmering lilac potion curdling a shocking pink was just too, too bleak.

"It's seven times, Malfoy, and then a pause, and you repeat it three tim–"

She immediately wished she hadn't spoken; he turned slowly to face her, lips curled into a sneer.

"I'm sorry, is a Mudblood actually trying to _help_ me?" he said in a tone of mock incredulity. "Or is she trying to make a fool of me _again_?"

"You made a fool of yourself, Malfoy, as you very well know!" Hermione replied hotly.

Malfoy didn't deign to reply; with a contemptuous look and a flourish, he returned to his own cauldron.

He even managed to remain composed as he stirred seven times, stopped, and then stirred again, ignoring Granger's haughty sniff.

"Time's up," called Snape from the front of the classroom, his black eyes sweeping the classroom. They fell on Ron, whose cauldron seemed to be on fire, and Harry, who was dousing Ron's flaming cauldron with the contents of his own.

Hermione privately wondered if they were actually doing all this purposely to annoy the Potions master; they certainly were succeeding.

"Well done, Draco, ten points to Slytherin," Snape said, coming over to inspect his draught, then turned to Hermione and added coldly, "Five points from Gryffindor for inflicting your insufferable Know-It-All presence on everyone in your vicinity."

"_Wha_–?!"

Hermione was seething as she stormed out of the dungeons, sweeping past Harry and Ron, who were now trying to dry their sopping wet robes near the hearth.

Then someone seized her wrist and pulled her into an empty corridor, and her wand was out instantly.

"You nearly poked my eye out, Granger," Malfoy grinned smugly.

"Let go, Malfoy, because I do have half a mind to give it a jab," Hermione warned icily.

Malfoy laughed derisively, and shook his head patronizingly at Hermione.

"Oh, like you'd do that, Granger."

Hermione pursed her lips. He was absolutely right. Even if Malfoy was the world's biggest git, she wasn't the sort who could stomach eye-poking of any kind.

"Well, what do you want, then?" she asked, trying her best to sound unconcerned.

"Why, to thank you, of course!" he said, with an air of false astonishment. "You didn't think I wouldn't repay you for, er, _inflicting your insufferable Know-It-All presence _on me, did you!"

Hermione stared at him suspiciously.

"In fact," Malfoy continued, "I was going to add back the points Professor Snape docked." He raised his eyebrows at her angry expression, then suddenly leant forward, still keeping a vice-like grip on her trembling wrist.

"But if you're going to be such an ingrate, Granger," he whispered, lips brushing her ear, "then you'd better be careful. If you tell anyone about yesterday, you and those two _simpleton_s will be very, very sorry."

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see him smirking at her horrorstruck expression, his face inches from hers.

"OI, WHAT ARE YOU DOING!" Ron bellowed, sprinting up the stairs and promptly tripping over his own large feet.

The word "simpleton" was still ringing in Hermione's ears.

Ron hauled Draco off Hermione, who was pressed against the wall, frozen. Malfoy freed himself roughly from Ron's grip and brushed himself off disdainfully.

"Another ten points from Gryffindor, Weasel, for sullying my robes," he remarked. "That makes about fifty. Quite the field day you're having, isn't it?"

"What did he do to you?" Ron demanded, glaring as Malfoy strutted off.

"N-Nothing," squeaked Hermione.

"Nothing?"

"Yes, Ron, nothing!" Hermione snapped. "Come on, we'll be late for our next lesson." She spun around as Ron made to tap her.

"And don't touch me, Ron, your hands are full of that disgusting mess you made in Potions!"

She felt guilty as Ron surreptitiously wiped his palms on his robes, and immediately regretted her words.

Everything seemed to be annoying her – Harry's all-too-frequent outbursts, Snape's blatant favoritism, Ron's intelligence issues. And Malfoy.

She sighed.

Quite the field day she was having, too.


	3. Chapter 3

**Kinda short, but well... I WILL MAKE IT A POINT TO HAVE MORE HGDM BITS NEXT TIME. SORRY. OH NO.**

"A 'T'?!" demanded Ron in outrage. "How dare that greasy git give me a 'T'?!"

"Greasy git? Snape? Where?" Harry asked in confusion. He hadn't checked his grade yet and seemed rather preoccupied.

"Oh, well, I got a 'T' too, 'spect we deserved it for once, we didn't actually submit anything."

This unusually mild comment about Snape's impossibly strict marking (and strictly strict only for Gryffindors) made Hermione inspect Harry closely. He seemed rather upset-looking, but Hermione could only assume it was because of Occlumency two nights before.

If there was too much of a good thing, there was definitely too much of a bad thing, and you could never have too little of Snape.

She glanced at the tiny black letter scrawled across the paper.

"You got an 'E', Hermione!" exclaimed Ron. "Don't look so miserable, this is Snape's lesson we're talking about!" He leant closer to the paper, the tip of his freckled nose almost touching it. "Yup, an 'E' all right. Looks like he seriously considered writing 'P' for a moment, judging by the smudge, but..."

"Oh, shut up, Ron," snapped Hermione. "You two should really work harder, 'T' stands for Troll!"

As she said this, the first image that came to mind was a flying club and troll bogeys all over Harry's wand.

She shuddered.

"Speaking of trolls, Hermione, I was going to ask you about dear Draco," said Harry suddenly. Hermione started and felt a wave of panic wash over her.

"Trolls remind you of Malfoy, do they?" she asked casually.

"No, actually Malfoy reminds me of trolls," he frowned, then continued, "But that's not the point. I heard from Ron that he was calling you filthy names and strangling you yesterday."

Hermione glared at Ron, who was looking at his feet with great interest.

"He was _not _doing either of those things, and you should know better than to listen to Ron's tall tales!"

"Fine, I really should know better, shouldn't I," grinned Harry, easing up a bit. "Still, you're sure he's not blackmailing you or something?"

"Yes."

"Even with another of those 'Miss Granger Brews Love Potions' articles?"

"Yes– Harry you know that magazine issue last year was complete rubbish!"

"Didn't do anything else illegal, did you?"

"Harry, you sound like my mother, give it a rest already."

This was Ron, thoughtfully speaking up for Hermione. She supposed he was trying to make up for the slight exaggeration of his story, so she gave a grudging nod in his direction.

Hermione disliked hiding things from her two best friends, especially when those "things" pertained to the worst enemy they ever had the misfortune to meet (except for You-Know-Who, and _maybe_ Snape). But she didn't know how they would react, especially since they were boys, and she doubted whether she would want to take up an offer to curse Malfoy into the Easter holidays.

That, she firmly decided, would be a pleasurable task she took on herself.

"Uh, are you two okay?" asked Ron, perplexed, as he looked from Hermione to Harry. "Why are the both of you, y'know, staring off into the middle distance?"

"Thinking," they both muttered at the same time, and Ron looked highly suspicious.

He glanced at Hermione, who seemed rather anxious, and then at Harry, who looked exasperated and bitter for some reason, and sighed.

***

Draco Malfoy, at that very same moment, was stalking down a corridor in one of the lowest levels of the school. He was clutching a piece of paper that had, from its well-creased look, been previously been folded into a crane. A most touching gesture, but Malfoy was not easily touched.

Needless to say, he did not like paper cranes.

He held the paper up to a torch to read the fancy handwriting.

_D – Dashingly despicable_

_R – Ruthlessly ravishing_

_A – And_

_C – Clearly completely_

_O – Oblivious to my overwhelming love_

_-From your dearest, most faithful, most ardent Secret Admirer XOXOXO_

Malfoy snorted most derisively. Pansy's infatuation with him was definitely not a secret, though this... poem was a bit too much, even for her.

She had even gone through the trouble of checking a dictionary! How else would this be possible? "Overwhelming" had four syllables, for heaven's sake.

His thoughts were interrupted by the loud, shuffling footsteps of Crabbe and Goyle.

"Hey, Draco, whatcha holding?" asked Crabbe. Genuine curiosity from Vincent was rare indeed.

"Mnemonic," said Malfoy shortly.

"What's that?" wondered Goyle. "Sounds like some sort of Russian vulgarity. Or a Durmstrang name."

Malfoy rolled his eyes and crushed the letter in his fist. Ruthless, indeed.

He, Draco Malfoy, should have been recorded down in _Hogwarts, A History_ as the richest, handsomest, brightest boy ever to bless the halls of Hogwarts with his divine presence. Now that was a way of showing admiration, not turning his name into some useless acronym.

The words reverberated around tantalisingly in his head.

_Richest, handsomest, brightest..._

_Richest, handsomest, brightest..._

_Richest, handsomest, brighte–_

_Brightest?_

Malfoy scowled. Well, brightest except for the Granger girl. Textbook-swallowing Mudblood.

He would never, ever, ever forgive her for humiliating him that day. A rightful punishment would be to do something really... horrible.

After all, mean was what Draco did best.

Burning her textbooks didn't seem a viable option. There was always a chance she had another few copies stashed away in case of a fire or something. Where Granger and studies were concerned, you could never be too careful.

Making her get a zero for a piece of homework was promising. She'd hyperventilate and get sent to the hospital wing, at the very least. Unfortunately, he couldn't see how he'd persuade any teacher to do that. Even Professor Snape would give him 'the look'.

But breaking up the Golden Trio, now that was an idea. And it was completely do-it-yourself, especially if you were the great strategist Draco was, or thought himself to be. All he would have to do would be to...

Make Potter think Granger was dating Weasley.

Nope, no jealousy there.

Make Weasley think she was dating Potter.

Possible, just possible. But _how_ was the question.

Make Weasley and Potter think she was dating someone else.

Hm.

An arch-enemy, to be precise. They'd positively kill her for that.

He smirked widely. Simply brilliant.

"Uh, Draco?"

"What is it now, Goyle?" he sneered irritably.

"Nothin', I was just wonderin' if we were, y'know, goin' back to the common room. I don't really find wall-starin' interestin'. But you've been starin' at the wall for the last half an hour like it was real important so I didn't wanna disturb you. Even though I don't know why you're wall-starin'."

Malfoy grinned again and began walking down the drafty corridor, robes swishing behind him.

"Wall-staring helps your brains, Goyle," he laughed. "You two really should try it sometime."

A suggestion that would later be taken at face value by Crabbe and Goyle, but Malfoy had more important plans to plot.

The loyalty of those Gryffindors was really going to be tested.


End file.
